Ginny appeared in her flat with a loud crack, and immediately fell to her knees, hyperventilating, tears streaming down her face. "Fuck," she said pitifully. "Fucking, fuck." She was at least relieved that she'd managed to hold off until she'd left Remus's. For a moment, she stared at her dangling shirt strap, transfixed as the morning replayed in her head. Letting her hair fall into her face, she choked on a sob as the scent of Harry filled her nostrils. She stood on wobbly legs and kicked the side of her chair angrily, ignoring the pain shooting into her bare toes. She deposited her things in the chair and peeled off her clothes, leaving them in a trail to the shower. She stood under cold water, numb and unblinking, silently chastising herself for making such a big deal of this.

Her mind wanted to work its way through the logic of the morning. But she shook her head, her mind was not allowed to do that. Harry Potter was back, and she got carried away in a completely unwelcome way. Well, not completely unwelcome, but unwelcome in the ways that could break her. She dried herself and dressed in a pair of denims and one of Ron's threadbare, child hood shirts. It was once dark blue, and the cotton was so well worn it bordered on sheer in the elbows and shoulders. Unbelievably soft, it was usually accompanied, on really bad days, by a glass of strawberry milk and bottomless plates of macaroni and cheese. Strawberry milk in hand, an owl she recognized as her mother's tapped on the glass. She opened the window and sighed, realizing at the thought of her Mum, that she'd utterly forgotten her manners. She found the alumni journal in the pile of things in her chair and scrawled notes to Remus, Tonks, and Hermione.

Ginny claimed her Macaroni and Cheese and settled in with the journal. Not only did it provide a good home for things she didn't want to think of but couldn't seem to keep out of her mind, but there was also harmless conversation happening inside it. Anything resembling normal, thoughtless social interaction was what she needed to keep her mind off of Harry. The journal was perfect. It meant that she didn't have to go outside and risk seeing anyone, and the Mac and Cheese was only a few feet away. After a small nap, a bit of conversation with Seamus and Stephen, two owls to Molly, both of which seemed to be a painful stretch of the imagination but she wasn't ready to talk about anything yet, Ginny stretched and braided her hair. She was thankful that she was communicating with her mother in writing, because she would've never gotten away with the lies in person.

She look around her flat and the mussed journal. Writing in it had helped a bit, but she needed to talk to a real person that didn't cause her any emotional tempests. Pulling on a loosely crocheted hat, she popped a sobering draught into her pocket and walked down Diagon Alley to the Leaky Cauldron. She felt a bit guilty about standing everyone else up, but she figured they didn't miss her.

He smiled and looked at her, waving her over. Since everyone just arrived at the Leaky, he figured he could wave her over...where they were standing. Since they hadn't had time to find a table as of yet.

Walking down the street had felt good, but stepping into the Leaky felt a bit.. wrong. She caught her name and turned to see Seamus smiling and waving, with Stephen and Luna. It was nice to have some one happy to see her. She smiled and walked across the room to join them.

"Seamus, you wanker, your hair is positively breathtaking," she teased, reaching out to pat his hair, then stuck one finger in her mouth, pretending to have stabbed herself with it.

Stephen had been so busy keeping an eye out for an open table that he didn't notice the others greet Ginny until she was right in front of them. "Oh! Ginny, hi!" Wow, this was turning into quite the get-together, Stephen thought.

"I'm not sure if pointy is a good thing," he commented, scanning the Leaky again. No table yet, bugger.

"Thanks Luna, you look lovely, as always," Ginny said, giving the other girl's arm a little squeeze. She smiled at Stephen, "Dangerous, and exciting. The man is just like his hair, but a bit smarter," she said. Recognizing one of the waiters who gave her a look, as she was not usually one to come in on her days off, she waved to him, pointed at the four of them, and mimed sitting down. He nodded and conjured a small table and four chairs in a cramped corner.

Luna smiled at Ginny's compliment, looking down at her clothes. Lovely? She was still in her work clothes from the night before, not having a chance to change into anything more comfortable before her shopping trip with Millicent earlier. She suddenly felt not herself. With a quick flick of her wand, she transfigured her outfit into something a bit more her. She nodded as the black blouse and skirt transformed into a pair of faded jeans and a loose fitting top.

"Problems, Finnigan?" Stephen smirked as Seamus, quite the gentleman, sat down. He, himself, was going to wait to sit down because he had to order drinks for everyone and it was only proper to let the ladies sit now. He was doing his best to ignore how easy it had been to get a table - conjure it, who was he kidding? What an obvious solution.

"First round's on me, what does everyone want?" he asked, head tilted to the side. He fussed with the hem of his t-shirt, waiting.

"He's got loads, Luna. I'll bet he even has a secret identity in Russia, or somewhere."

Ginny laughed quietly, but couldn't find the right muscles in her face to smile. "It is a bit," she said, wanting to stop thinking about shagging as soon as possible, images from her morning flashed behind her eyes and made her glad she wasn't trying to stand or walk.

Luna continued to fold and shift the napkin in her hands, shifting her gaze form her little project to the two others sharing the table with her. She giggled at the thought of Seamus in Russia, covered in a thick fur coat and one of those hats with ear flaps.

Her brow rose as they talked about Seamus' shagging activities, or lack thereof. She chuckled and muttered to no one inparticular, "I find that hard to beileve."